The Science of Sleep
by WhosInTheAttic
Summary: The Doctor and Rose share a bed for the first time. Set sometime between "Dalek" and "Parting of the Ways".


He spent the first wee hour of the morning lying on his side in the darkness, cursing himself for putting himself in this situation, trying not to focus on the feel of Rose Tyler's body curled into his.

During the second hour, he tried to relax and allow his right arm to settle against her as it curled around her waist. He even plucked up the courage (had the audacity) to nestle closer to her. Maybe it wasn't such a bad situation to be in, after all.

By the third hour, he found he was unable to resist the temptation of her blonde locks, snuggling closer to her and burying his nose in the soft wisps of her hair he deeply inhaled the scent of her strawberry shampoo and smiled.

During the fourth hour, she had rolled over to face him, her sleeping face inches from his own. She exhaled heavily through her nose and he felt the air ghost across his face. She curled her arm over his side, and over the course of fifteen minutes had worked herself nearer to him, her cheek pressed into the fabric of his jumper, her hand slipping under the hem of it, warm fingers twitching against his flesh. He curled his arm around her, splaying his large calloused palm between her shoulder blades, and stroked the cotton of her vest gently with his fingertips.

It was during the fifth hour that he _really_ thought he should extricate himself from her limbs and get out of her bed. Propriety be damned, he couldn't pull himself away. She wanted him here, and despite everything, he knew this was where he wanted to be, too. In Rose Tyler's arms. _In Rose Tyler's bed, _he thought.

The sun began to rise during the sixth hour. The Doctor had turned onto his back, and Rose had curled into his side as though they were a matched set (weren't they?), one leg thrown over his, her head resting on his chest, arm splayed across his torso, hand occasionally gripping ineffectually at the hem of his jumper. He tried to ignore the growing wet spot on his chest where she was dribbling on him. Tried to ignore how little it bothered him, and tried not to laugh at how embarrassed Rose would be if she knew. He grinned silently and kissed the top of her head.

Time Lords rarely needed sleep, and he wasn't due for a kip, but he allowed himself a rest anyway. When he awoke, he was facing away from Rose, with her curled against his back, arm draped over him. His fingers were entwined with hers and clutching her hand to his chest. Their legs were entangled, and he took much pleasure in the feel of the smooth skin of her legs against his, very glad in that moment that he'd listened to her about leaving his jeans off. His eyes darted to said clothing for a moment, folded and draped over the back of a chair, partially covered by his leather coat. His boots sat side by side on the floor to the left of the chair. _Ever tidy, me_, he thought.

He marked the beginning of the eighth hour at 9:23am (plus 46 seconds), shortly after Rose had rolled over to her back. He turned to face her, admiring her sleeping face again, trying to burn this memory into his brain for all time. This human girl was like a balm for his soul, reminding him of who he was before the War, before all the death and loss and misery. He took her hand in his. "Oh Rose Tyler," he whispered, his northern accent filling the air between them. "You are fantastic," he brought her hand to his lips, and gently bent his neck to place a kiss on her knuckles.

Rose awoke to the feeling of the Doctor's lips against the back of her hand. Her eyes fluttered open gently, meeting his cool blue ones. "Good mornin'," she said, smiling widely.

"Mornin'," he responded.

"'S really good to see you," she said. She'd half-expected to wake up alone. He released her hand, and she raked it slowly through her hair. "What time is it?"

"It's 9:34 in the morning," he replied.

She stopped herself from asking, "Are you sure?" because _of course _she knew he was sure. She just wasn't used to waking up at this time and feeling so…rested. She shifted a bit closer to him, the dull ache between her legs reminding her of exactly _why_ she'd slept so well. She smiled at the thought, and touched his cheek, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He froze against her mouth, and she broke away, clapping her hand over her mouth, "Oi, I'm sorry, my breath must be just awful," she sat up and started to leave bed for the en suite. The Doctor took her wrist gently, and looked up at her. "Wait, Rose," he said softly, taking her in. Her vest clung to the curves of her body; it was too large and had twisted a bit in her sleep, so he could clearly see the outer swell of her breast. Her hair was tangled and a bit bunched on either side from where he'd had his fingers curled into it the night before. Warmth coursed through him and pooled in his groin as he recalled the events of last night; her flesh against his, the way they'd moved together in the dim light. He smiled. "It's not that. Your breath is fine," he reassured her, "it's just…are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure _I'm _what you want? This daft old face? After what happened in Utah, I-"

Rose smiled and turned to face him, then adjusted to partially cover his body with her own. "I'm absolutely sure," she smiled, stopping his words with a kiss to his lips before snaking her fingers beneath the hem of his jumper and stroking the smooth, cool skin of his stomach. She traced little circles along his flesh, moving lower to toy with the waistband of his pants. She slipped her fingers beneath the fabric and cupped his bare flesh with her palm. Before he knew it, his hands were in her hair again.

He was just where he wanted to be; in Rose Tyler's arms (_hands!_), in her bed, and in her heart.


End file.
